


The Game

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, Living Witness Universe, Voyager Mirror March
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 04:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "Such curious creatures, humans. Despite the decades he had spent among them, he had never come to truly understand them."





	The Game

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you devovere for the valuable comments and Caladenia for the amazing beta service within horrible deadlines (insert tons of kisses).

* * *

 

From his station at tactical overlooking the entire bridge, observing the crew was as easy as breathing.

The slightest stumble, a raise of a brow, a hesitant glance, a delay in reply. People thought they were so subtle when, in fact, most were as transparent as glass.

And equally fragile.

Such curious creatures, humans. Despite the decades he had spent among them, he had never come to truly understand them.

Why were they so obsessed with emotions?

To him, it seemed those unpredictable currents were only a distraction or, at worst, a force of nature that swept them away from the course they had chosen. Lieutenant Torres may have had her Klingon ancestry to blame for her outbursts, including the one that turned out to be her last, but many humans were equally temperamental without the excuse of biological tendency. A chaotic existence like that held very little grace or dignity, yet they didn’t appear the least bit embarrassed by this flaw. Quite the contrary; they welcomed that turbulence, reveled in what they saw as its power.

And what was the meaning of wallowing in memories?

An inefficient activity, if anyone asked him. Rather, one should learn what is to be learned from the experience, then leave the remainder behind. Clinging onto the past was fruitless, memories valuable only if they helped to better adjust and prepare for future challenges. What good did it ever do to young Ensign Kim to miss his parents after he had been pulled to the far end of the galaxy? The grief he couldn’t contain only made him weak, and his weakness made him easy prey, chased and tormented day after day.

The most incomprehensible human trait, however, was the chatter.

And the most irritating, if he was honest.

The never ending need for interaction, talking without purpose, sharing insignificant details of their lives or gossiping about the presumed lives of others made no sense at all. Not to mention how draining the constant noise was. No place was safe: the bridge, the mess, the corridors, even a lift ride wasn’t short enough for people to keep their mouths shut.

A miracle he was still able to think clearly.

Yet there was something that had caught his attention the very first day he had come to live among humans. Something that had sparked his curiosity and had held it ever since.

Buried beneath all those noisy, emotional interactions was a whole other level, a world with rules and goals kept unvoiced and hidden.

In the beginning, this world remained invisible to him, he only vaguely wondered why his intuition insisted that more was happening than met the eye. But once he became aware of these undercurrents and realized he was immune to them, observing the crew proved almost… entertaining.

How little was ever said and done simply to exchange information was astonishing. Instead, most communication aimed at influencing others, usually to one’s personal benefit, while keeping these primary intentions and motivation carefully concealed for as long as possible.

Not that such questionable, stealthy means were entirely unheard of on Vulcan, but humans had cultivated it into a form of art and a basis for their society.

Indeed, many humans seemed to spend a notable proportion of their time and energy on this task, pursuing more power, higher status, larger quarters, another mate, or some other pointless desire. Individual cravings were countless and often fueled by the need to fill a void or satisfy a hunger born from those emotions and memories they held so dear

As a result, he could only conclude humans had evolved very little over the past centuries.

And still, if the truth of human interaction had been this simple, he would not have taken much interest in their irrational existence. But it was more, so much more.

It was a game.

A web and a maze, intricate and ever-changing, where logic could only get one so far, and where random factors such as instinct and luck played a significant, sometimes even crucial, role.

The best players were inspired not only by the rewards, but the challenge itself. The harder the goal, the less likely the success, the more they were willing to invest and the greater risks they were willing to take.

The game was, in lack of a better word, quite fascinating.

Lieutenant Paris was a player in every move he made, although his objectives were so petty it was difficult to understand why he bothered. After bedding over half of the crew and at least one alien on every planet they visited, where was the thrill anymore?

Commander Chakotay, on the other hand, was far more intriguing. From a less than impressive childhood, he had fought his way through cultures and ranks using his intelligence and wit, learning, adapting, utilizing every opportunity. Occasionally, the remnants of that greatness could still be seen. The fact that his path had come to an abrupt stop at the sight of the Captain was disappointing. The man could have achieved much more than warming her bed.

Then there was the Captain. The one person his thoughts drifted back to, time after time.

Unlike most people, she kept her past a secret and her motives hidden. She didn’t engage in mindless chatter and her feelings rarely got the better of her. Even her violence and cruelty was cold and calculated, not one decision made in the heat of the moment. These qualities alone made it no coincidence she had reached the top very quickly.

She called him her friend, which was rather odd considering their complicated history, but he suspected the use of that particular endearment masked far-reaching wisdom to keep close someone potentially more powerful – and dangerous - than her.

Nonetheless, there were moments when her icy exterior crackled. Brief, but visible, if only one knew when and where to look. Moments on their long travel when the constant pressure and lack of sleep got to her and he could see her confidence and strength waver. Moments when he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what and how much it would take for her to fall apart and how magnificent that fall would be.

Sure as death, everyone did have their breaking points. A weakness, a softness, something too painful or too valuable, and if twisted right…

His first step into the game had happened almost by accident. An opportunity had presented itself, and he had seized it on an impulse, a rare indulgence from his part.

Crewman Jones had been looking for her husband that evening, the fury of a betrayed wife burning in her eyes. Her emotion made her susceptible, basically a walking target, and in a fraction of a second, he made his first move.

All the crewman needed was a mere suggestion that she might want to ask Paris, and the jealousy she had harbored burst into raging flames.

How was he to know she’d go and beat the crap out of the unsuspecting Lieutenant Paris? Sending him to sickbay for two days with a concussion and several broken ribs, confused and innocent, probably for the first time in his life, of sleeping with someone else’s partner.

And when the case was under investigation, he calmly denied he had ever said anything of the sort, that the crewman in her unstable state of mind must have misunderstood his answer.

After all, who would doubt the word of a Vulcan Head of security?

Later that evening, sitting in his quiet quarters with a Vulcan brandy in hand, recalling the incident and analyzing the expressions and tones and chain of events, he noticed a warmth spreading in his chest. A pleasant sensation of fulfillment he hadn’t experienced in a very long time, so pleasant he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Inspiration was a rare companion to him. As far as he could remember, only a few things had ever felt worth pursuing.

His career in Starfleet had merely been a means to an end, to help him get away from Vulcan and a life that would have bored him to insanity, and the dull contentment he had once felt in taking orders and meeting the expectations of others had long ceased to give him any kind of gratification. Even on a journey through the dangers of uncharted space, his days lacked a sense of purpose and direction.

Now, all of a sudden, there was something to look forward to. New perspectives and new ideas rushed and filled his mind, tickling his intelligence and imagination and, however illogical, sparking him to life.

He saw all the pieces like they were spread before his eyes.

He saw every person on board, their current positions, and connections to one another. Each individual with their weaknesses and strengths, their dreams and fears, their enemies and allies. Information he had been gathering over the years without knowing its potential, numerous details he had organized and stored for further use.

Plenty of pieces were missing, sure, but he had a good start and on a restricted arena with a ship and crew as small and isolated as _Voyager_ was, he would soon know enough to begin.

Maybe he would work his way through the crew from the most vulnerable up, play with one mind at a time. Maybe he would pick the most interesting ones first; maybe proceed in a random order.

The ultimate goal was beside the point, though. All that mattered was the game.

Or maybe…

Maybe he would proceed with patience and time, make a plan, develop a strategy, set the pieces one by one. Feeding information, nudging into a certain direction, creating a whole like a painting or a symphony until each pawn was in place, waiting in the right position for the final countdown.

And when everything was exactly how he wanted, he would set the events into motion, sit back, and enjoy.

Like Kal-toh. Only far more intriguing.

And also, if his suspicions were accurate, far more satisfying.

 

* * *

 


End file.
